


Grand to Manhandle

by jat_sapphire



Series: Music by Uncle Bonsai [1]
Category: The Professionals
Genre: Big!Bodie, Fluff and Angst, M/M, PWP, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-26 13:10:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17746493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jat_sapphire/pseuds/jat_sapphire
Summary: PWP with 1. Swiss roll, 2. angst, 3. happy ending.





	Grand to Manhandle

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2019 Discovered in a Valentine challenge in Discoveredinalj. Inspired by [Miriam Heddy's "Bodie's Bodies"](https://www.trickster.org/symposium/symp2.htm) and [Uncle Bonzai's “Fat Boys”](https://youtu.be/BT-T705PHBE0).

Doyle didn’t notice the change in Bodie at first. Bodie always, or nearly always, dressed in layers, sometimes thick ones, or just an implausibly large number: undershirt, shirt, tie, waistcoat, suit jacket, overcoat, scarf, gloves, rain poncho … and that was all on his top half. Doyle would have been smothered. He felt a bit confined just seeing all of those clothes—it almost seemed wrong to look at Bodie when so little of him was visible.

Bodie was holding his body differently, too, more stiffly, as if he were bruised, and Doyle began to notice that he was putting an inch or two of space between them that usually wasn’t there. Instead of shoving up against Doyle, shoulder to shoulder as they waited at a wall, hip to hip at a bar, thigh up against thigh as they sat on a pub bench ... he was near, but not touching. In fact, if Doyle touched him, Bodie eased away, or startled, or just stepped to one side.

As if he didn’t want to touch Doyle any more.

Thinking of it, Doyle stiffened with hurt and pride. Fine, then. He pulled a bird without letting himself notice that she had dark wavy hair and blue eyes, and that the sex was ... all right, not bad. Afterwards he lay beside her watching the shadows move across the ceiling, and his arms still felt empty. He saw her a few more times—her name was Sandra—and then she sat him down and told him she wanted a father for the children she planned to have, so that was that.

He picked up Bodie for work, the next morning, at the entrance to the graveyard where they often ran. “Exercising? Bravo, my man,” Doyle said, pompously for the joke of it, but Bodie just eyed him sideways as if he couldn’t see the funny side. “Bacon sarnie?” Doyle asked, because the takeaway place was nearby, but Bodie made a pouty, revolted shape with his mouth.

Even then he didn’t explain. “No,” he said, and didn’t have anything but tea—black tea, without even milk or sugar—until lunch. He drove them to Manna at noon, for pity’s sake, a vegetarian restaurant Doyle had never been able to get Bodie to step into before. As much as Doyle enjoyed the roasted vegetable tart he had, he could see Bodie was chewing his bean burger unhappily, and the orange sweet-potato chips also looked harder to chew than normal ones.

“What’s going on, mate?” Doyle asked at last.

Bodie shrugged. “Always telling me to eat healthy,” he said.

“Didn’t mean turn into a goat,” Doyle grumbled, and that did raise a little grin.

So that evening they had bangers and mash, and then back to Doyle’s, where he had a Swiss roll. For Valentine’s Day, though Doyle didn’t say so.

But Bodie turned it down. “Ta, mate, but no thanks. Full up,” he said, patting at the base of his sternum, delicately, ruefully.

Doyle reached over to feel Bodie’s forehead as he leaned back. “No, you sit still,” Doyle ordered, really worried now. But the smooth skin (no paler or more flushed than usual) was perfectly normal in temperature under the dark fringe, and his eyes were remote, but clear. “You feeling all right?” Doyle asked just to make certain.

“Sure, Ray, I’m fine.”

Doyle stared, not believing it. He felt Bodie’s forehead again, looked in one eye and then the other, petted down Bodie’s temple to his neck, thumbed the nick in his collarbone where any sweat ran and waited to be licked up ... Ray closed his eyes a little too long, remembering, and Bodie’s breath caught. Then he stood up, quickly, and stepped over to the window to look out, to face away. 

Doyle felt a quick, sharp pang of despair. He covered his mouth with one hand, gripped his own chin hard, gritted his teeth and then jumped, the way he always did. The way he had before asking Bodie the first time, when he thought “Yes,” meant he’d won the jackpot forever.

“Bodie,” he said, grimly, evenly. “Are we … finished?”

Still facing the window, Bodie tilted his head back, closed his eyes, said nothing.

“No,” Doyle said, not meaning to but not able to stop himself, standing up and finding himself at the window, too. “ _NO_ , Bodie!” He grabbed Bodie's shoulders and shoved their mouths together.

There was no resistance in this kiss, anyway. Bodie made a faint sound in the back of his throat and clutched at Doyle, shoulders and waist and sides, then both hands in his hair, fingers moving against his scalp as though it were precious, as though he were beloved. Doyle tipped his own head back, and Bodie immediately kissed under his chin, down his throat, along his collarbone where the edge was sharp. “Ray, Ray,” he murmured, as softly as if he were speaking to himself, “oh, love, perfect,” and Ray felt the tears press behind his eyes, the sob like a knot in his throat. He wanted to lay Bodie down and love him all night. He wanted to shake him until he explained what was rattling around in his empty head.

“Why?” he choked out. “ _Why?_ Then?”

Bodie shook his head and went on kissing Doyle's neck.

It was hard, like lifting his gun when he was already shot, like running harder when his legs dragged and ached, but Doyle pushed Bodie back and stepped back himself, glared wetly, and growled, “Bed. Now.”

Bodie's mouth twisted and he didn't meet Doyle's eyes.

“NOW!” shouted Doyle, beyond losing his temper. He grabbed Bodie's arms and dragged him into the bedroom, didn't give the pillock time to say no about undressing, working through all those layers—long underwear, even, bloody hell—until he could shove that long-desired, long-limbed, pale body down onto the mattress and climb all over him.

“Don't you know,” he scolded, running his hands down Bodie's arms, over his chest, “you made my arms ache, my hands, like arthritis or bruises, standing back like that, bloody shy all of a sudden, as if you didn't—”

“I do,” Bodie said, his hands on Ray's back, stroking down to his waist, to his buttocks, the way Bodie always did, cupping, squeezing, as if Ray's arse were magnetic and Bodie's hands were made of iron. “You know I do.”

“I'll show you,” Doyle growled, almost more threat than promise. “How I feel.” He kissed and nipped and sucked, here and there, pursuing when Bodie held back, especially where there was extra flesh: under his chin, on his pectorals (where Doyle licked and sucked as if they were breasts, while Bodie squirmed and reddened), the underside of his upper arms, the curve of his shoulders, across the lovely soft expanse of his stomach—Bodie did twist away and even sat up, but Doyle wrapped both arms around and squeezed. “I love this,” he insisted, “I love it, Bodie, it's all you and I love it. I want to eat you up.” He ducked his head and licked from waist to navel. Then he nipped at one fleshy hip and grasped the other tightly enough for his fingers to sink in. Rooting like a piglet, he pushed his nose and mouth into the valley between Bodie's belly and his cock as it thrust out of dark, crisp pubic hair. Nothing else, nothing anywhere, could smell this good, savoury-salty-sweet with Doyle's cheek on the fluff softness of Bodie's upper thighs. Doyle pushed and nudged farther in, farther down, where sweat smell mixed in and the warm rough skin of Bodie's balls, and the curling hair, made Doyle's mouth water.

Every texture was best: the backs of his thighs were not so smooth, a little pebbled, and the slope of his arse was like two matching pillows, and the small of his back smelled and tasted like the most delicious treat. “Bodie,” Doyle murmured into the skin he loved so much, and when he found himself back at the nape of Bodie's neck, snuffled and hummed into the little curls, tightest and softest when Bodie built up a sweat. He licked again and again between the tendons, behind the shells of his ears, inside where Doyle knew his harsh panting sounded like storm waves to Bodie, while Doyle's cock was like hot steel, a truncheon sliding against Bodie's soft, cool, inflaming skin.

“Oh, let me in,” Doyle said, and Bodie did.

“Ray,” he said as he rolled to his hands and knees. “Ray,” as he spread himself and Doyle licked and fingered and caressed. “Ray—” as the cock-head breached him. “Ray! Ray!” as they rocked together, Doyle's chest to his back, arms as far around as he could reach, gloriously not quite far enough, as if Bodie were a magical stallion carrying Doyle to the edge of the earth, beyond the edge, into the heavens.

They lay in the welter of the sheets, wet and tangled, ribs heaving, having outrun the border of their own desires. It seemed a long time before Doyle felt he could sit up, squirm around to see Bodie's expression, and pet his hair and face. “Angel,” he whispered.

“What?” Bodie's voice was rough.

“Beauty,” Doyle said. “Love.” He kissed the crease between eyebrows where Bodie still looked disbelieving. “Trust me.”

“I do,” Bodie said.

“Don't pull away.”

“I can't, Ray. You saw I couldn't.”

“Good.” Ray kissed each soft eyelid, each eyebrow, his nose, the little sad twist of Bodie's lips until they relaxed and curved upwards. “I need you, Bodie, I need you like air. Don't take the breath away from me.”

“You,” Bodie said, “don't you mind ... ” 

Doyle took his mouth again in a long, sweet duel of tongues and lips. “I don't mind. I like all of you, any shape, any time. I love you. I love all of you.”

Bodie looked as if he might believe it, sometime.

Doyle said fiercely, “I'll convince you if I have to shove Swiss roll in your mouth and show you every day.”

And then Bodie smiled. “I'll put up with that, mate. Every day. I'll hold you to it.” He pulled Doyle close, and they both smiled. And kissed again.


End file.
